


To Lean on Somebody

by TibiDecet



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A bit of swearing, Comfort, Crying, Dream Smp, Gen, Hair Washing, Just a heckload of comfort, Lots of crying but it's mostly good, Touch-starved Jschlatt, hair cutting, oh and, platonic forehead kissing, platonic use of spanish, their friendship is amazing ok, this is all platonic please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TibiDecet/pseuds/TibiDecet
Summary: In an universe where Schlatt didn't turn *that* bad, where we actually got the Manburg Family dynamics we deserved, two friends find a moment of calmness and honesty from the chaos of the world.--------Me, grabbing google docs at two am: I'm going to write something so self indulgent ...Listen, I am touch starved and projecting hard, what can I say.I blame Lando, who is the best source of ideas, the most wonderful writing inspiration and the worst enabler.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Strictly platonic please do not make me bonk heads
Comments: 22
Kudos: 237





	To Lean on Somebody

It happens one late evening.

Quackity enters Schlatt's office at around midnight, tired, stressed out from the upcoming meetings, and almost lets all of the documents he's holding fall to the ground in surprise. 

He hadn't expected to find the light still on and for a moment he stares, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, at the ram hybrid still intent on finishing his own reports. And for a moment - right before Schlatt's eyes raise towards him, right before he notices he's not alone in the room anymore - Quackity just  _ sees _ him. Shoulders tense, hair a mess and way too long, some curls reaching the tip of his nose, the darkness under his eyes as if he's been punched. 

Yellow eyes blink slowly at him. 

"What are you still doing up?" Schlatt asks, monotone betraying nothing of the tiredness his whole body is emanating. 

"I could ask you the same thing." Quackity quips back, moving closer to the table to place down his finished work - Schlatt's eyes soften for a moment, gratefulness evident only to a trained watcher. 

"Are you almost done?" The younger man asks, leaning into the desk to peer at the document still under his president's hand. At Schlatt's positive hum, Quackity simply hums back. 

A thought hits him, a plan subtly forming in his brain as his eyes move from the document to Schlatt's hand as he tucks a stray curl behind his right horn with a huff. 

He ponders for a moment. Meditates on possible outcomes. Prepares for the worst.

"Do you want me to cut your hair?" Quackity's voice asks, out of the blue, the traitorous fool, before he can figure out a way to properly construct his question. 

Schlatt looks up, blinks at him. 

Looks back down at the document, only silence passing between them as Quackity both tenses up and laughs at himself for the silliness of the question. 

"Sure, why not. Shit's getting annoying, anyway." 

Quackity discusses with himself the benefits of cutting his friend's hair at one am, and finds no reason why he shouldn't do it. It's not like he's that tired anyway, his brain always takes a while to turn off after he's finished working, and this way he can make sure Schlatt won't change his mind. 

As soon as the man is done with his paperwork, he escorts him to his bathroom, where he has all the things he needs. 

"Are you sure you can cut hair?" Schlatt asks, eyeing suspiciously the scissors and clippers Quackity is taking out of a specific drawer. Quackity just sighs with a smile on his face, waving his worries away. 

"Now, we don't really have a proper place to do it. You can sit on the chair and lean back, or we can use the bathtub." Schlatt turns towards him, a sardonic smile on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You know, if you wanted to get me naked-"

Quackity raises his index finger towards him.

"I  _ will _ stab you. I'm giving you enough time to get ready and when I'm back I'm cutting your hair  _ or something else _ . Up to you." 

Schlatt chooses the bathtub. 

Sue him. 

He needs a bath anyway, this is just saving time. Also, there is  _ no way in hell _ he is bending over backwards to have his head fit into the sink, his back is already fucked up enough. 

For all that he jokes around Quackity, he knows that what they have can live through this situation. They're friends, in a way that honestly baffles Schlatt a bit too much. He doesn't know what he did to deserve somebody that clicks so well with him. Not that he's gonna say that out loud, but-

Maybe he should have just gone to sleep. 

He is tired. But the prospect of a bath - and of freedom from his overly long hair - is too tempting. 

When Quackity enters the bathroom again, he's silent. He makes no note nor quip about Schlatt's decision, he just goes and grabs what he needs and places it down on a chair, moving another one so that he can sit right behind Schlatt. 

Everything is very still and silent around them, which could be weird and awkward but it's not. They're both tired, and there's not much to talk about that they can't talk about when they're both awake. 

Quackity grabs a small plastic bowl and scoops up some of the water in the tub.

"Tilt your head back a bit?" He asks and his voice is so quiet, so soft - it's the voice he uses when he's helping Fundy with his projects, or when he's reviewing Tubbo's blueprints.

Schlatt raises his chin a bit, unsure of how much is required, until Quackity's hand gently rests over his forehead, pressing down just a bit as the man whispers.

"Close your eyes." 

The water runs through his hair once, then a couple of times as Quackity repeats the process until his hair is properly wet - never once does water get in his eyes, even though Schlatt does feel it linger over his forehead, unable to move due to Quackity's hand. 

His brain is tired, and the most he can think of is that it's a nice gesture. 

Then Quackity grabs a bottle of shampoo - which smells oh so nice, like lemons and something spicy that makes him want to smile and reminds him of summer - and starts to lather his hair. 

And  _ oh _ . 

The way his fingers run through his hair, slowly, picking up stray strands to make sure all of them are getting cleaned. The way the pads of his fingers press gently against his scalp, rubbing small circles at the nape of his neck, then behind his ears. 

The way he traces the edges of his horns, where bone melts with cartilage and skin, before lightly pressing down and rubbing some more foam into it. 

It takes a while, but Quackity's subconscious eventually brings him to much simpler times, and a familiar but long forgotten tune erupts from his heart in the form of a gentle hum. 

Forgetting he should be cutting some hair, his hands move to his friend's shoulders, tense and rigid as if they were made of stone, and he figures that he can allow himself to try and lessen the knots of tension there too. 

About a minute later, he catches himself pressing down on Schlatt's trapezius, huffs out a breath at himself and returns to the main task at hand. 

Washes out the shampoo, then grabs some more and begins his lathering process once more - he just wants to make sure the hair is properly clean. 

Meanwhile, Schlatt is in paradise. 

He hadn't realised how much he needed something like this before, but oh does he not want this to end ever. 

He feels relaxed, content in a way he'd forgotten he could be. 

Each and every point of contact that his scalp has with Quackity's fingers are like beacons of calmness, turning his body into putty at an embarrassingly quick speed - his entire being concentrating around this focal points of just  _ touch _ . 

He doesn't realise he's crying until a quiet sob makes his shoulder shake. 

Sudden fear grips at his insides, because oh no, not him, he is  _ not _ crying because his best friend is washing his hair and treating him with a gentleness and kindness he doesn't deserve-

"Are you cold?" Quackity asks from behind him, the slight edge of worry in his tone, and Schlatt instinctively shakes his head no, realising his mistake as he does. 

There's a perfect chance of saving it.

"A bit." Is what he tries to say, but his voice is thick with the tears he's been crying, it cracks in all the wrong places and it ends with a chocked sob. 

Fuck, he is a mess. 

When all that follows is a stunned silence, Schlatt feels his walls slamming down, shoulders tensing up as he moves away from Quackity.

"Fuck, shit- get out.  _ Get out. Right now. _ "

Nothing, no answer. Not enough venom.

"Get the fuck _ out! _ " He yells out, arms wrapped around himself, another sob working its way up his throat but he stomps it down- fights with it for a good second as he waits, too aware of the fact that Quackity is still in the room. 

A moment passes. A shiver runs through his body, despite the room being heated up and the water still being definitely warm. 

There's a sudden point of warmth as Quackity places a hand on his shoulder, slowly, lightly, as if dealing with a wounded animal. 

Schlatt doesn't know what to do with himself. All of his instincts yell at him to fight back, to yell, to hurl insults until whoever is behind him will leave. 

But this is  _ Quackity _ . His best friend. 

So when Quackity pulls him back, gently, he lets himself be brought back. Back, until his back is against something soft - Quackity's sweater, which has got to now sport a wet and soapy patch on the front. 

Still, his friend doesn't seem to mind. 

"I've got you" he whispers, and his words are like the final dent in the dam of his emotional walls. 

One hand moving to grip at Quackity's arm, Schlatt almost doubles with the strength of his next sob, a gut wrenching sound that leaves his throat raw and heart weeping. And he cries. 

All the stresses, fears, doubts, all the stuff that had been piling onto his mind just come crashing down - and he would have toppled with it, if it hadn't been for Quackity's firm but kind grip on his shoulder steadying him. 

And he sobs, lets himself cry - because at that point, who even cares? Once he would have shrugged, shaken his head dismissively: nobody cares. 

But the thing is, Quackity cares. 

Quackity, with his bright smile and infectious laughter, with his gentle touches and firm hugs. 

A solid anchor in the tempest of emotions he is finding himself stuck into. 

Quackity holds him, free of judgement, lets him cry his heart out and then more. 

And when things calm down, he picks up his hummed tune - a lullaby of sorts. 

Between one sniffle and the other, Quackity rinses his hair out. Starts cutting his hair, brings it back to a respectable length. 

Spends too much time carding his fingers through the strands, then takes out a hair mask and spens even more time massaging it into his scalp. 

There are a couple of times when exhaustion - physical and emotional almost make him fall asleep in the water, but he stays awake, if anything to not miss a single moment of the experience. 

And when Quackity whispers to him to turn towards him, they both have red rimmed eyes. Neither makes a comment on that. 

Schlatt raises his hands from the water, shakes out some excess droplets, and figures it's the least he can do as he places both palms on his friend's cheeks and wipes away the couple stray tears he finds there. 

Quackity smiles softly, ever so softly, and leans into the touch, eyes briefly closing. 

"Thank you, mi amor." Schlatt croaks, wincing a little at how weird his voice sounds after crying for so long. 

Quackity huff out, eyes crinkling with humour; when he answers, his tone is so thick with fondness it makes Schlatt melt.

"You're a dumbass." 

Despite it all, Schlatt finds it in himself to smile cheekily, hands coming to rest at his sides as Quackity goes back to working.

He lets him do his thing, not wanting to disturb the process. It would be rude to do so. 

When Quackity places his scissors back down, it feels like the moment is ending, and yet his fingers go back to his face once more. 

Gently tracing his horns, thumbs resting on the side of his temples as he rubs circles with the rest of his fingers on his scalp. 

Then, moving his palms to rest on the sides of his head.

Schlatt, who'd been keeping his eyes closed, opens them right on time to find himself staring at Quackity's chin. A split second later, lips press against his forehead, fingers still rubbing circles through his hair. 

A sudden rush of emotions overcomes him, the tenderness almost too much, and his eyes water again as he grips at Quackity's arm like a lifeline, holding on through the onslaught of feelings that hit him like a shockwave. 

Quackity lingers, and whatever he is trying to convey Schlatt  _ feels _ . He understands. He squeezes his eyes and squeezes Quackity's arm, hoping, needing his friend to understand that  _ yes, he knows, he understands, he feels the same _ .

And when Quackity leans back, eyes shining, a bittersweet smile on his face, Schlatt can't help but chuckle wetly. 

"I'm going to wait outside, alright? I don't want you to get cold. Let me know what you think of the cut, alright?" Quackity says after a moment, then stands up and leaves, gently closing the door behind him. 

He understands, it's all a bit overwhelming. 

What's important is the fact that they understood each other. 

Schlatt raises from the water, quickly drying himself up - his muscles ache from staying in the same position for too long, and his heart aches for a whole another reason, but he feels better than he's felt in a long while. 

He shoots a look in the mirror: his hair isn't getting into his eyes anymore, and it looks good. The length is enough for his hair to actually start to curl up at the bottom, and once it'll be dry he assumes it's going to feel very soft, due to all the care it went into it - and products, but still. 

He fixes his clean shirt, smoothing away inexistent dust, and ignores how puffy his eyes look. 

That was one hell of a haircut. 


End file.
